


Earthquakes

by velvetcadence



Series: A Coin, A Meal and A Stone [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Sweethearts, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Fertility Issues, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Pregnancy Kink, Telenovela-levels of drama, casually channeling my baby fever onto a fic, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25306063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: Lord Yuuri has waited six faithful years for his fiancé, Prince Victor of House Nikiforov, to come home. But war changes people, and Yuuri finds his alpha arriving with an infant on his arm. Who is the child, and why does he look so much like Victor? Can Yuuri find the boy he loved in the man that has returned?Sequel to Tremors.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: A Coin, A Meal and A Stone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833028
Comments: 276
Kudos: 484





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yuuri: vitya when u come home i want a baby  
> vitya: *brings home a baby*  
> yuuri: *surprised pikachu face*

Yuuri woke, and silence greeted him once more. He was dreaming of Victor, and of the memory of that first, blissful heat. Victor and his lovely hands and his low purr, and the scent of their nest that suffused his skin long after.

Six years had passed since, two dozen heats come and gone, mateless and empty. The solitary heat after the first had been painful and wretched, but every heat after that seemed to burn a little cooler, left a little earlier, leaving him a little emptier. It was as if his body had decided that without Victor, there was no point in burning, and Yuuri stayed awake nights and drifted through days in the quiet fear that time and absence had made him barren.

Omegas his age had already been mated and pupped, and while Yuuri tried not to envy them, the milky scent of their happiness made something ugly curdle inside of him.

Yuuri learned to wake from each empty heat wrapped around himself and not a mate, learned to mourn each bloodstain on the sheet as a child that he would never get to hold. Victor’s ravens came in with some frequency in the beginning, however, as the war progressed, longer and bloodier than anyone had anticipated, the letters dwindled. Victor sounded more and more exhausted with each message. His latest one to his grandfather was terse: three sentences, and none of them dedicated to Yuuri.

Yuuri tried not to fret. Victor was a capable alpha, he was apprenticing in war under his famed uncle War Prince Ilya, his sworn knights were skilled and loyal, and his army was large and ready. They had allies across the seven kingdoms. No, it was not Victor's physical safety that Yuuri worried over. It was his fidelity, and his love. Yuuri's position at court remained precarious so long as Victor remained away.

Yuuri was sheltered compared to other boys, but he had grown up in Ruvenian court, which was the heart of scandal. He knew how little vows meant. When courtiers played the game of thrones, all sense of morality and decency faded, what was left was human lust and greed and deceit.

So Yuuri watched alphas keep mistresses. And Yuuri watched omegas weaponize their heats. And Yuuri watched as around him mated pairs fractured apart.

If an alpha lord could keep his mistress in his bed while his omega wife slept in the next room, what was stopping a prince away from home and gone for so long? Victor was set to inherit a kingdom, who but the king was greater in authority? It was a kingdom that in Victor’s lifetime had expanded its borders to Yushu to the East and Tsyeva to the North. A kingdom that was growing into an empire.

Who was he, without Victor? Just an omega, a pawn in the game of marriage and politics. They had yet to bind themselves through a formal mating, so even as a pawn he had failed in his duty. Victor was too valuable a piece in the game; in all likelihood if Victor tired of him, Yuuri would be the one who had to leave. He had no power in this. He felt like a ghost in the castle, a guest who was overstaying welcome. His parents were dead, caught by siege. His older sister had come of-age without him thousands of miles away. They had not spoken in years. Would she welcome him back should the Plisetsky-Nikiforovs choose to cast him aside?

Yuuri parted the curtains of his four-poster bed, and set his feet on the soft rug. So here Yuuri was, waiting, orphaned, despoiled but not even mated. He moved to his favorite chair by the window, away from the scent of his nest, which smelt of longing and sadness.

His latest heat had exhausted him, despite it being shorter than average. He had to keep up the charade of a fertile omega's heat, which lasted about a week, when in reality Yuuri barely had to recuse himself for two days, sometimes three at most, and spent the rest of the week alone in his rooms.

The omega closed his eyes as the breeze from a window brought with it the smell of the sea. He heard the cry of seagulls overhead, and it brought him back to a memory of Victor from years and years ago. They were still children, and Victor had scarcely been in Hasetsu castle for a week before he had declared his suit.

“Yuurihito,” young Victor had said, and Yuuri had blushed at the sound of his full name. Victor was a prince, and Yuuri only a hereditary lord of a small province in Yushu, but the disregard for titles and formality was shocking. Yuuri would later learn that it was not ignorance on the prince’s part, but calculation.

The prince had taken his hand and placed a single golden coin in the center of his palm. It was blinding in the sunlight, for how small it was. And yet it was worth more than its monetary value, because with it, Victor had declared his sincere intent.

A coin. The first of the three traditional Yushan courting gifts.

Yuuri placed that same palm over his shirt where Victor’s coin lay strung on a golden chain. The memory of that day still brought a smile to his face. The shock, the giddiness, the heart-shaped smile of his hopeful suitor. The uncomplicated joy of children.

He bit his lip and stared out of the window. But they were not children anymore, and Yuuri could not guarantee Victor's affections any more than he could predict the weather. Yuuri had grown to his full height in their time apart, and he had the scent of a mature omega now. What if Victor didn’t like what he found when he came home? How could Yuuri bear to go on?

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the sight of bannermen at the gates. It was only when the servants outside his door began to fret that Yuuri wondered at the commotion.

“Did you hear? Prince Victor’s home!”

“Prince Victor? Didn’t he—”

Their voices waned as they ran past his door. Heart in throat, Yuuri moved as fast as he could. If Victor was home, royal protocol would have him present himself formally to his grandfather the king. If Victor was home, the lords and ladies at court would be gathered together in the throne room to welcome him . If Victor was home—

Yuuri had to bathe, except—there was no time to draw a bath. He would have to do with a washcloth and soap, and dry himself quickly, and find a hairnet that would cover the state of his hair. Then a dress—a simple one he could lace himself into without his manservant. Slippers soft enough to run in because—!

Victor was home!

* * *

Quietly, Yuuri slipped in through the side doors the servants used. The room was already full, and Victor was kneeling before the king. Yuuri ached at not being the first to greet him home. The first thing he had noticed was that the silver hair he had loved had been shorn close to the nape, with a fringe to frame over his left eye. The second thing had been the sharp line of his jaw, and the broadness of his shoulders. Yuuri felt his heart race, his hands shake. He could hardly contain himself.

Victor rose to stand, and his cloak fell about him. _How strange_ , Yuuri thought, _that no servant had come to take that from him. But perhaps he was in a hurry. I would be too._ Yuuri drank in the sight of him, handsome and dignified.

“Your Grace, may I present Lady Ludmila of House Babicheva.”

Victor nodded, and the Northerner stepped forward and curtseyed deeply before Ruvenia’s king. She looked young, with pale skin and a shock of red hair arranged in short curls. Her face was set in a placid smile, but Yuuri thought he could see the tick of anger in her jaw. Georgi stepped forward to meet her, bowing and kissing the back of her hand. She said something mild and pleasant. Yuuri’s attention flicked over to Victor, whose face was solemn like it had been carved from stone.

Lady Ludmila’s introduction over, Victor stepped forward again. “Your Grace…grandfather. Princess Ludmila is not the only one I brought to join the family.”

There were whispers as Prince Victor unclasped his cloak, then the whispers became murmurs as a babe slung across his chest was revealed, sleeping peacefully. One of its chubby hands had clutched at Victor’s shirt.

The light glinted off a tuft of fair hair.

That hair.

* * *

Yuuri felt ice freeze his veins. His vision darkened. He thought he heard high pitched whistling, but it was only in his ears.

A hand grasped his forearm, but Yuuri heard them as if they were underwater. “Are you well, my lord?” Yuuri snatched his arm back, skittish, shoulders curling inwards with utter humiliation.

He backed away from the room, grace from years of dance the only thing aiding his quiet retreat. No need to alert the courtiers or the servants. No need to let anyone know where an insignificant omega was going.

Once he was far away enough, Yuuri ran.

* * *

It was undignified, and Madame Lilia would scold him, but instinct had blinded him into a panic. He didn’t know where his feet led him, and he could scarcely see through the blur of his tears. How could Victor betray him like this? Yuuri thought. After all their promises? After giving him his first heat? Had he become one of those omegas he had feared, used and discarded by an uncaring alpha?

Yuuri ran and ran and ran until his bones ached and his lungs burned. His eyes prickled and his nose hurt and his throat ached and there was a yawning chasm opening up inside his chest. He felt as dirty as the hem of his dress that dragged along the ground, unsuited to the world beyond the castle walls. And yet it only served to panic him more, as his dress caught on bushes and foliage, feeling as if the fingers of his uncertain future were dragging him back to the castle.

Would Victor send him back home, despoiled but not claimed, a shame to his family? Or would he marry him off to some other alpha as a chess piece in Ruvenian politics?

He yearned for the earth, and the dark, and the warmth of a nest. Yuuri sobbed as he stumbled and dragged himself under the heavy roots of a large, old tree.

Didn’t he expect it, though? Didn’t he prepare himself for the possibility over six years? Yuuri’s fingers carved frantically through dirt, his omega instincts completely overtaking him in his grief. Didn’t the omegas all warn him that alphas were all the same after all? Just in need of a wet hole to knot? Yuuri keened wretchedly, crushing leaves between his hands, frantically plucking soft grass and moss to line his nest.

Didn’t he know that Victor would tire of him? Did he think that he was somehow special, when he was just a dime-a-dozen omega plucked off the backwoods of a small eastern kingdom? Did he really think that he could find an alpha who would keep him, protect him, and love him, let alone an alpha prince?

Yuuri curled into the smallest ball he could make, his tears mixing with the soil and the detritus and the moss. He wished the earth would swallow him whole, if it meant reprieve from the wretched pain.

Did he really think Victor would come back home unchanged?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all for waiting for this chapter! I was blown away by all the comments! I just finished exams, so to celebrate what's left of my braincells, here's a chapter POV from two people who would DIE for Yuuri. (They're the Missandei and Grey Worm of this fic.) Some subtle hints are dropped in this chapter. Feel free to put your tinfoil hats on and speculate!

“Wasn't he handsome?” One of the servants whispered, the castle still atwitter from Prince Victor's return.

“I think his nose is too long.”

“Well, I think it makes him look dignified.”

“I didn't know his hair was really that color.”

“Makes him look old.”

“ _Dignified_.”

“What do you think, Phichit?”

Phichit looked up from where he was gathering his master's fresh laundry. His mouth twitched at the corner. “Oh yes, His Grace is very handsome.”

“Shame about _our_ prince though, having to mate a Northerner.”

“Could you imagine it?”

“She's a little young, don't you think?”

“Not that much younger than Lord Katsuki. And besides—”

Phichit left them to their gossip, hefting the bedding onto his arms. The walk to his master's rooms was not that long, but the staircase defeated him every time. Still, he loved his life here, serving a master that did not require much in the way of personal care. Phichit slept in a warm bed, ate hot food, _and_ he was frequently in the company of the handsomest knight in the guard.

Speaking of the handsomest knight in the guard, Ser Seung-Gil was not in his usual post by Lord Katsuki's door. A quick look inside the sitting room revealed it to be empty.

Phichit had never seen Ser Seung-Gil anywhere less than twenty steps away from their master.

“My lord? May I come in?” Phichit knocked on his master's bedroom door. “Lord Katsuki?”

Gingerly, he turned the knob, and padded into the room. His master was not in the adjoining bathroom either. There were clothes scattered on the floor, and the wardrobe was in disarray. Curious, Phichit counted the pairs of shoes that Lord Katsuki kept, and saw that a pair of slippers were missing.

Where could his master have gone? In the middle of his heat? Phichit's heart started to thunder, his mind jumping to the worst conclusions. He himself had been stolen away from his own nest, in a land far away and a life long ago. And yet, there no signs of struggle here.

The omega raised his nose to scent the air, wondering if he could discern anything unusual in the room.

A loud whine rang from the door, followed by the scratch of claws on the wood.

Phichit opened the door and was confronted with the agitated sight of Ser Seung-Gil's wolfdog. “Su-Won? Where's your papa?”

The large hound barked, running a few steps into the hall before looking back at Phichit, as if bading him to follow.

“Oh no...is your papa in trouble? Is it Lord Katsuki?”

Su-Won whined, running in circles before taking off.

Phichit cursed and ran after the dog, knowing that whatever it was, his master needed help.

Even if he did have to use the damned stairs again.

–

Seung-Gil was at a loss.

He had sworn himself to the safekeeping of Ruvenia's future king consort, but no amount of training could prepare him for his master's emotional dash across the estate. His beta nose and eunuch state, both of which had served him well in protecting his omega master throughout the years, now only crippled him. Lord Katsuki had gone feral under the roots of a tree. He had only ever seen a feral omega once before, and he hoped he would never encounter one ever again. The keening itself was heart-wrenching. But combined with the sight of gentle Lord Katsuki's sobbing form, Seung-Gil felt like someone had killed his dog for sport.

He and Su-Won had followed Lord Katsuki as soon as he left his rooms. Despite the gossip, the omega was not as regimented as believed. He was free to roam the castle as he pleased, and host any number of luncheons and little parties. He simply did not wish to. Save for his charity work outside the castle, his master liked it better to keep to himself and to his rooms, an opinion Seung-Gil could agree with. And so as soon as Lord Katsuki stepped out, despite his heat, Seung-Gil quickly followed. It was not his place to question his master, merely to protect.

He had known that Prince Victor was coming home, of course, with a Northern omega to seal the alliance with Tsyeva. The babe was a surprise, but who was Seung-Gil to judge. It was a common enough occurrence, between alphas and omegas. If the prince was a cad—did it really matter? He was betrothed to Lord Katsuki, who was the key to Yushu, which Ruvenia would never relinquish.

However, as soon as Lord Katsuki began to panic and run away from the castle, Seung-Gil knew that of course, it _did_ matter. Because his master, who was quiet and kind and talked to Seung-Gil's wolfdog like it was a puppy and not a hulking mass of fur and teeth, _that_ master was hurt and heartbroken. Whatever his relationship was with the prince, it was clear that he treasured him, and to have his years of waiting be returned with the insult of a bastard child was clearly devastating.

Seung-Gil and Su-Won ran after the omega and waited on him until Lord Katsuki had dug himself a nest, at which point Seung-Gil had commanded the wolfdog to fetch Phichit.

Lord Katsuki was vulnerable outside of the castle walls, and Seung-Gil knew that it would be untoward of him to touch his omega master. He needed Phichit here, to soothe his fellow omega's cries, and bundle him up in blankets, and be a witness to Seung-Gil's innocence in case whispers arose.

He didn't even know if his master was aware of his presence, or if he felt as alone in the world as his cries sounded. He was prepared to wait for as long as it took, hours more, if need be.

When Su-Won came back, the wolfdog not only had Phichit in tow, but Prince Victor, Prince Georgi, and their small retinue of stewards and guards as well. Seung-Gil gave himself a moment of pride that he had his hound so well-trained he not only fetched Lord Katsuki's personal manservant, but also _both princes of the Seven Kingdoms_. He glanced at Phichit, who looked ashen under his beautiful tan, before lowering his eyes as the princes approached. Seung-Gil bowed.

“Report, Ser.” Prince Victor's voice was curt, his blue eyes like chips of glass embedded in a face of stone. “Why is my omega not in his rooms where he should be?”

“Your Grace.” Brief and succinct reports, Seung-Gil reminded himself, were best made to short-tempered commanders. And the prince looked a step away from becoming feral himself. “Lord Katsuki left his rooms for the Great Hall when he heard you had returned. He became upset, then fled here. Once I was sure he would not run again, I commanded Su-Won to find his servant while I stood guard.”

“Why was he not presented with the rest of the family?” This question was directed to his brother, Prince Georgi.

“I—” The younger prince startled as Lord Katsuki had let out a soft, keening cry from his huddle in the ground. “Sorry, Vitya, we thought it best to leave him to his heat.”

A muscle in Prince Victor's cheek twitched, as if he was clenching his jaw very hard. Seung-Gil was a mere beta, but even he felt a tension between his shoulders, as if the very air was pressing into him. He saw Phichit from the corner of his eye unconsciously turning his head to the side to bare his neck, the tendons under his skin stark. Prince Victor's alpha presence felt like a beast that was looming over them all. If the prince told him to stab his own hand that moment, he wouldn't have questioned it; the instinct to obey would have overridden all sense.

“Gosha, you _know_ what Yuuri is like. Has he even been told that I was coming home?”

“Well—no—“

“The messenger arrived five days ago!” Prince Victor roared. Phichit's knees buckled as the weight of the alpha's anger filled the air. Seung-Gil tensed, keeping his hand on Su-Won in case the wolfdog jumped on the alpha threat. “Were you all just waiting with your cocks in your hands or did you never plan on informing my mate that I had come home?”

Shocked into silence by the outburst and frightened into stillness, the servants waited with bated breath as Prince Georgi gathered himself enough for a response.

“Vitya, calm down, please,” the younger prince placated. “You know I would have told him the moment the message arrived. But Grandfather told me not to.”

Just like that, Seung-Gil felt he could breathe again.

Prince Victor's stance softened and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. “He did? He told you not to...? Oh, of course he did.”

“I'm sorry, Vitya.”

“I'm sorry too, Gosha. I shouldn't have yelled.”

Seung-Gil sighed a breath of relief, and tilted his body back towards his master and away from the two princes. The old gods and the new had no mercy on him today at all, determined to throw the dynamics of alphas and omegas in his face.

–

The sight of his master, heatsick and feral, plunged a knife into Phichit's insides. He watched Prince Victor crouch beside Lord Katsuki, kneeling in the cold muck, fingers reaching for the figure huddled into the earth.

“Yuurochka,” the prince whispered, tender and pained. Despite himself, Phichit felt himself color with embarrassment. In all the years he'd known his master, he had never known him to take advantage of intimacies, platonic or otherwise. He was shy, almost to the point of reclusive. Many at court saw this as coldness, a flaw of Yushan sensibilities. He loved to dance, which was expected at court, even encouraged, but he did not drink, and hardly ever joined in the other revelries. Phichit thought that it made his master beyond reproach, and kept him firmly within the Crown's good graces. He was known as Lord Katsuki at court as it was easier on Ruvenian tongues, Yuurihito to the king, and Yuuri to his goodbrother Prince Georgi. Phichit had never heard him be called _Yuurochka_.

The servants talked, of course, of how the betrothal between Lord Katsuki and the crown prince was a love match, but Phichit privately thought that it was not. For one, his master rarely ever talked about his fiance, and for another, there were hardly any ravens between them in their years apart. The king received messages from the prince frequently, Phichit thought it would not have been such a hardship to sneak in a love note or two. So perhaps the prince and Lord Katsuki were not as in love as people thought.

And yet looking at the way Prince Victor gently approached the omega, Phichit began to have doubts. There was no exasperation in him, no impatience. He could have forced the omega up, as many alphas would have done, scruffed them by the nape and carried them home without wasting any time. Lord Katsuki was keening with every breath, his sobbing threatening to spiral into another hysterical fit. When Prince Victor gathered the omega into his arms, Lord Katsuki wailed and thrashed about, struggling to stay in his haphazard nest.

It was sacrilegious to steal an omega from his nest, even at time dangerous, but it was necessary now, for dusk was threatening to descend, and the chill from the Northern winds coming with it. Phichit felt helpless as he could only watch the prince tuck Lord Katsuki's face into his neck, both to comfort him with his scent and to hide the tear tracks that were staining his muddy cheeks.

“Shhh Yuuri, I'm home, hush, hush now...oh sweetheart...” Prince Victor murmured brokenly, rocking the omega back and forth. Phichit breathed a sigh of relief as the keening stopped, and Lord Katsuki slumped into Prince Victor's chest, his body slack from exhaustion.

“My cloak,” the prince commanded, eyes never straying from the omega. The steward hurriedly offered it to him, and Prince Victor tucked the warm cloth around Lord Katsuki. His movements were steady and sure, and spoke of an intimacy and knowing between their bodies. Phichit was agog to see his reticent master be held so intimately, and struggled to lower his eyes from the sight.

The pace Prince Victor set was brisk. Servants scurried ahead to open doors. They all lowered their eyes in deference to the prince, but Phichit saw them peeping from the corners of their eyes. No doubt they could smell Lord Katsuki, his heatscent was still strong despite the way Prince Victor had made sure to cover him generously in his own scent.

They stopped in front of Lord Katsuki's rooms. Prince Victor had stepped foot in the main living area before carefully retreating back. Phichit was already inside, setting things to rights, piling the laundry away. He watched the alpha hesitate at the threshold. There had been no time to open the many windows and let the fresh air in, so Lord Katsuki's rooms smelled the way his heats usually did: despair and longing tinging the musk of omega slick. Phichit had grown used to the scent after tending to his master for several years. Abruptly he wondered if the scent was repulsive to Prince Victor, if they were not compatible that way. The thought vanished when Prince Victor rubbed his cheek against his master's hair, murmuring softly to him.

“Have my rooms prepared,” the prince said to them, “I'll nest him in mine. You,” he looked at Phichit, and the omega could feel his heart race at being addressed directly. The prince's eyes were a shocking blue, and he had an air about him that brooked neither argument nor compromise. Phichit had a sudden realization that he was face-to-face with Ruvenia's very own War Prince Victor Nikiforov, the only man who had ever succeeded in the history of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men into bringing the North to heel. “Bring his sleep clothes and that big pillow he likes.”

Phichit bowed to his prince, and when he rose, the alpha had already walked away, the omega still in his arms.

Ser Seung-Gil put his hand on Phichit's shoulder in a rare show of affection. Then, he clicked his tongue for Su-Won to follow him, and they trailed after Prince Victor's retinue. Bolstered, Phichit reentered his master's rooms and determinedly gathered the things that Lord Katsuki would need for a new nest.

But how on earth did the prince know about Lord Katsuki's pillow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch that Nikiforov Nose joke I also made in Tremors? Lmao
> 
> Su-Won's name means “defend”. Or as I prefer to think, “protecc”. He's a very very good boy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! I had so much fun reading the conspiracy theories you came up with from the last chapter. Solnyshko_UK, Grimmichi78, Lili59 and EarthSorceress guessed correctly about Mila! As for the baby, Grimmichi guessed that Baby was a child that was found then adopted by Victor (no but also yes?), medeamedusasedusa guessed that Victor went to a sorceress to make a baby as an apology gift to Yuuri (this MADE MY WEEK ~~I may actually write this as an outtake~~ ) or a Stark-Targaryen lovechild situation (partially correct), while Lili59, Specs2, qqsha and Simplytori guessed 100% correctly! And a special mention to The_lorax17 for their bullseye on the baby's identity since chapter 1! *throws confetti*
> 
> I dug up my notes for History of Medicine from first year med school for ~handwavey medieval medicine. Obviously we're not going for accuracy in this AU, but I'm always happy to add little details to fic!

It was not the first time an alpha prince was in her solar begging for treatment, and, Lilia suspected, it would not be the last.

Her grandnephew had grown taller since they last met, broader too, but it was not such a difficult feat since he had been such a fey boy. “Come in, Vitya.”

“Madame,” the prince greeted, stepping gingerly into the room. His gait was steady but pained, no doubt sore from the journey home on horseback. Lilia made him sit down and took his chin in her hand, angling his face towards the candlelight.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Since before the war, probably.”

Lilia clicked her tongue, pressing her fingertips onto the contours of his face. His deep set eyes only exacerbated the dark bruises of poor sleep, and his nose was a little crooked as if it had been broken and set hastily. He was a touch hollow in the cheeks, but that was not so unusual for Nikiforov men, whose look tended towards gaunt the older they became. All in all he was as handsome as his alpha father ever was, with the angularity and sharpness of his mother's Plisetsky blood.

“What happened to your ear?”

“Direwolf bit it off.”

“Hm.” What was left of it was ragged, hidden by the longer fringe he kept over his left eye. “It's healed well. And this?” Lilia pointed to a shallow scratch on his jaw.

“Feral omega.”

Lilia shook her head and rifled through her shelf of tinctures, tonics and salves. “Only you, Vitya.”

He smiled at her, winsome and boyish for the moment. That, at least, hadn't changed. “Yakov did say I was impossible.”

She pinched his cheek for the jape and swiped the salve at his jaw. “You've given that man more pains than any birthing omega. Now take your clothes off so I can see what else needs stitching up.”

“Can't it wait 'til morning?”

“No.”

Vitya pouted, which may have worked on her when he was a child, but now only looked ridiculous on a grown man.

“Thank you for taking care of Yuuri, by the way.”

Lilia nodded, used to the rhythm of care that their little omega required during heats. When Vitya had called for her to his rooms, he had been such a fright, commanding servants to his specifications left and right. Yes, that blanket, no, that pillow, warm a basin, add rosewater. Yuuri was buried in a nest of Vitya's own making on the bed, tears still glistening on his dark eyelashes. Lilia had carefully moved the large body pillow that she suspected had been brought over from Yuuri's rooms, arranging the omega's arms and legs until he was comfortably cuddled into it, before placing the duvet that reeked of alpha scent back over him.

She had slipped a drop of poppy milk to Yuuri's heat tonic for some dreamless slumber, then pressed a vial of the suppressant that would stave off a rut into Vitya's hands as a precaution.

Back at her solar, Lilia palpated the soft spots of Vitya's stomach, searching for anomalies. Vitya seemed to have avoided any injury here at least; once the bowels were nicked, it was best to make peace with the gods. “It's no matter, but he'll be able to sleep through the night.”

Vitya reached out a hand and covered hers. It was rough and calloused, but warm, and Lilia was surprised to see how large it was in comparison. “Not just tonight, but for all the other times. Thank you.”

Lilia allowed herself to cup Vitya's chin once more, an affectionate gesture she had done often in his boyhood, and had become rarer as he aged. It was not how one treated a prince of the realm, but Lilia wistfully thought she would have even less opportunities for it in the future. He was still her babe and her boy even if he had grown into a man. “Think nothing of it, Vitya. He is kin; he will always have our care.”

Continuing her inspection, she checked his skin for any open wounds, poked at bruises and felt around healed bones. He was leanly muscled, lightly scarred. Lilia worried about the tension he carried in his shoulders and back even now. He would be a hunchback if he continued that.

There was guilt in the tilt of his head, the slant of his eyes that would not quite meet hers. It was the same look he took on when he had done something he shouldn't have. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Tell me, Vitya, or I cannot help you,” she reminded him.

“How do you always know?” He wondered. “...I need help weaning myself off milk of the poppy.”

Lilia closed her eyes, and prayed to the Crone for patience. She hoped pity did not show in her gaze. It explained the sallowness of his skin, the sunken eyes, the twitch of his fingers. It was a wonder he wasn't any thinner from it. “How long had you been taking it?”

“I took a vial for two weeks, for broken legs.”

“Vitya!”

“I was attacked by a bear!”

She felt a headache coming. “Vitya.”

“Well, he looked like a bear. Anyway, I'm down to six drops now, three in the morning and three at night. Otherwise I get the shakes.”

Lilia clicked her tongue. “I'll have you clean of it in a year's time, mark my words.”

“It's done terribly for my temper,” Vitya admitted. “I feel ill all the time. I can barely sleep.”

“We'll manage it. Are you feeling ill now? I'll make you tea for it.” Ginger for his stomach, Lilia decided, steeped hot and strong. Valerian root to calm his restlessness. “What about your ruts? Are they regular?”

“No. I haven't had a proper rut in two, maybe three years. I don't know if I can anymore.” Victor murmured, his embarrassment clear in the tilt of his head.

“A hard life will do that to you. Many alphas come home from war and restart their normal cycles, I don't see why it wouldn't for you. Were you injured there in any way?”

“What, my...sword? No. Works fine.”

“Can you maintain an erection?”

“...Yes.”

“Why did you hesitate?”

That pout again. “Are you embarrassing me on purpose?”

Lilia hid a smile. Ah, it was nice to know no matter how old Vitya got, her ability to rile him up stood untested. “Have you dabbled in whores?”

“What! Of course not. After pounding the dangers of unclean holes and seeds of disease in my head, you'd think to have a little more faith in me.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow. “I know what young alphas are like. Filthy and troublesome. Well? Pants off.”

Vitya whined, voice pitching to a tone that made the Madame roll her eyes. “Lilia! Do I _really_ have to?”

“Why of course, Your Grace. The future of the realm is at stake.”

-

Yuuri woke up to a nest that was not his, in a room that he had not seen in years, and in the arms of an alpha that never claimed him. He felt heavy and nauseated, a feeling that he recognized was the aftereffect of poppymilk. When had he been dosed? He couldn't remember. He felt confused. How did he get here?

He remembered the nest he made under a tree, and begging to the gods to return him to the earth. Before that, running. His frantic breath. The pain in his heart. The sheen of a child's hair.

His shaking hands lowered the collar of Victor's shirt to peer at unmarked skin. “Where is your mate?”

“What?”

“Your mate.”

Victor cupped his chin. “He's right here.”

Yuuri's temper started to flare. He ached all over. His throat was dry, and the emptiness deep in his belly made him despair. Victor's casual flirtations would not stand. “The omega you brought home with you. The one with red hair. _That_ omega.”

Victor blinked, and then a grin over his face. His upper lip curled, the hint of a heart-shaped smile forming. Damn him! “Yuuuuri, are you jealous? My love, you are mistaken. Lady Mila is bethrothed to Georgi, I've brought her home for _him_ , not me.”

“Oh.” Yuuri closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of the nest.

“Did you think I mated her?” Victor laughed, as if it was funniest jape in the world. Yuuri warred with elation, relief, embarrassment and frustration at the levity Victor was treating the issue. His head pounded harder. He wanted to vomit.

“Don't laugh at me.”

“Peace, Yuuri. She will be our goodsister.”

Goodsister. The thought quelled some of the anger in him. Then Yuuri thought of the months of travel that _that_ omega had spent with _his_ betrothed, months in which they must have been able to spend time alone together under the guise of kinship, circumstances that would have easily encouraged affection between an alpha and an omega.

Imagining those circumstance made Yuuri feel even more ill, compounded by the muscle aches brought about by his heat. His heat—

Yuuri stopped.

His heat that he had yet to finish.

The glands at his neck and thighs pulsed with pain, now that he remembered that they were there. And yet Victor lay perfectly composed in his nest, laughing at him, as unaffected as a beta. Yuuri knuckles paled as he clutched at the bedding, terror beginning to freeze his bones. There were very few reasons why an alpha would not respond to an unbonded omega in heat. One was if he was already mated, the other...

As if awoken by his thoughts, an infant's cry pierced the silence of the room. Yuuri's womb ached like a phantom fist come and squeezed it between its fingers. He watched as Victor's whole body turned to the noise and away from him, the alpha perfectly attuned to the cries of his child.

“Would you like to meet him?” The prince asked, eyes shining. Yuuri's head throbbed. The other reason was if the alpha had sired a pup and was keeping it in his care.

Would you like to meet him. Would he? The omega felt a strange sort of floatiness come over him, as if he was dreaming, or dead. Would he? “Why?” he asked, and though his voice came out perfectly steady, he scarcely felt himself say anything at all.

“You like children, don't you? Come, meet the pup, he's adorable and barely weaned.”

Adorable. Barely weaned. As if those things were enough to convince Yuuri to foster the stupid pup.

Adorable.

Yuuri's anger began to resurface, like a phoenix awakening to rage bright hot from the ashes of six years of numbness. “Is that it then?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I just stay in your nest and accept this insult? Do I instantly become a father at your behest, Your Grace?”

“What?”

“You are to be king of the seven kingdoms, and yet you have learned no empathy, least of all for me!”

Victor's mouth flattened. “What does that mean.”

“It means that while you have been away, I have become the laughingstock of Ruvenia! Your childbride from Yushu waiting at home none the wiser while you go off and have bastard children!”

“Yuuri—”

“Have you no care for your future trueborn heirs or did you just expect me to welcome this babe with open arms like a simpering omega? You might as well have killed that child before it drew its first breath, that would have been more mercy than you have shown me!”

Victor stared at him with shock. Yuuri burst into tears.

“You have brought home proof of your dishonor and I refuse to be your fool anymore! Let's end this!”

Yuuri's cry cut into the air like a knife, and the silence that followed it oozed like the innards of a beast wrongfully slaughtered.

Victor stepped away from the nest and drew himself up, as if facing an enemy, and his hand clenched and unclenched for the sword that was not at his hip. Yuuri suddenly felt very small as Victor towered over him, his nature as an omega instinctively fearful of an angry alpha.

“I will forgive your sharp tongue because I have omitted truths from you. But I have _never_ disgraced our troth. I can see that we are but mere strangers to each other now—I don't know who you are, but the boy I left here years ago would never speak so hatefully. That _bastard child_ I brought home is not mine but Uncle Ilya's. By law of succession, it will be heir to the throne. I have been displaced as crown prince. I will _never_ be king, and I will _never_ sit on the throne I have trained my whole life for.”

Victor's voice rose, the chill in his voice breaking into fiery rage. “And yes, I have contemplated several times killing that child since Uncle pupped that stupid whore! But I have not! Do you know why? Because despite my ambition, I know that killing an innocent is wrong, and killing a royal heir is treason! Instead I have nursed that child to health, kept him safe, and killed those who would have opposed his existence! I have done my duty to my kin and brought him home to House Plisetsky, but now that my watch is over, I see no reason to remain here, since I am no longer heir nor wanted as a mate. Very well, my lord, if it is your wish, let's end this!” With that, Prince Victor stormed away and slammed the door open with enough force to bounce it against the wall. He left before Yuuri could fathom it.

Yuuri collapsed into the nest, palms gathering his tears. What had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all shookt? Me too.
> 
> Also, milk of the poppy is canonically Game of Thrones morphine @Victor yikes my dude. I've been prescribed morphine. It was not fun.
> 
> So some questions have been answered...but not all! Leave a comment why you think Victor stopped writing letters, and why the king has been keeping Yuuri ignorant :o and how DOES Victor know about Yuuri's favorite big pillow?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! So last chapter was a bit of a doozy, huh? Thank you soo much for all the conspiracy theories, showerthoughts, and general hollering in the comment section! I have never enjoyed writing for this fandom more. BlueRoseJuliet wanted Lilia to talk to Victor to process his idiocy, while RedHimiko18 and FoxxyHart wanted her to smack him upside the head. Guess what? We'll have both! But from a POV character we haven't heard from yet :o

It was a morning that dawned grey and gloomy, but Prince Georgi Nikiforov was awake and ready. His older brother was home, his intended bride was very beautiful, and he was lifted off the burden of being crown prince! He spent some time in the royal sept after breaking his fast to offer a prayer to the gods, his heart feeling light after months and months of uncertainty. In truth, he knew that did not have the right countenance to be king, and dreaded the prospect of governing. He felt much happier reading books and writing poems, keeping the castle in order, and making sure that the people within were happy and healthy. He did not have the mind for politicking as his grandfather did, nor was he charismatic enough to lead like Victor. Third in the line of succession was a good place to be, he thought. Safe. His only duty now would be to mate and have alpha children to succeed him.

Madame Lilia had summoned him to deliver his brother's morning dosage of poppymilk. The family had decided to keep Victor's sickness discreet, and Victor was under strict instructions to only accept vials from her directly or from trusted kin. There was no knowing which unscrupulous individual would tamper with the medicine, and there was always a possibility of death as long as Victor stayed addicted. It was a sorry situation, but Georgi liked to think it was a small mercy, for aside from it, Victor had come home healthy and hale.

He was walking to Victor's rooms when he found his brother leaning against the hallway, still in his sleeping robe. He was trying to muffle his gagging through his covered mouth, but the retching wracked his body all the same. Servants hovered over him, quiet and frantic. One held a bucket and cloth, and the other had a goblet of water with them. It was a scene, and Georgi felt embarrassed for his brother, who looked pitiful and sick. The cry of a child added to the tumult, and Georgi felt himself tense for it.

“Vitya, you should go back inside.”

His brother wiped his mouth with his sleeve and shook his head. “Can't. Yuuri is upset with me right now.”

“Then we should go to the maester's, or to Madame. You look a fright.”

Victor shook his head, staring longingly at the door. “Need to protect the nest.”

Georgi sighed, exasperated. “Then we'll sit out here. Dima, please fetch us a bench. Katya, please bring the child here.” It was to the guards' credit and discretion that they moved further away from the hall without asking, still watchful, still near enough for protection, but far away enough that the illusion of privacy was given.

Victor held the bucket on his lap when they sat themselves, and waved away the servant that was holding a blanket and an outer robe, although he did not protest the soft fur that was placed at his bare feet, protecting him from the chill of the stone floor.

Georgi handed him the tiny vial of poppymilk, which only contained two drops, and watched with fascination as his brother upended the glass with a hunger on his tongue. Victor swiped the lip of the vial with his fingertip and stuck it in his mouth, made sure to get every little droplet that he could. The servant with the water stepped forward, and Victor took a sip, ran his tongue over his teeth and took his head in his hands, looking worn-down and defeated.

He rubbed his brother's back the way Victor had always done for him, when Georgi was younger and sickly.

“Your Grace.” The wetnurse emerged from Victor's rooms, holding the child, who was squirming and red-faced from crying.

“Give him here,” his brother murmured, and the moment he brought the pup to the crook of his neck, the wailing quieted. Like magic, Georgi thought.

Victor rubbed his cheek against the child's soft, fair hair, scenting him. “What's wrong, little love? Did you miss me? Hm? Were you looking for Vitya?” To the wetnurse, he asked, “Has he fed?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, “Cried as soon as he finished.”

“Good, good. Take your breakfast from the kitchens, Dima, please bring her down. I'll call for you when I need you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Georgi watched in fascination as his brother took a small cloth from a servant, draped it over his shoulder, then held the baby there, patting his back with practiced ease. At this angle, the child's cheeks drooped over the strong curve of Victor's shoulder, making him look like like a fat dough of bread.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping him burp. He'll go to sleep right after.”

“Should you be patting him that hard?”

“He's fine. I'm cupping my palm, see?”

“Oh. He's cute. He has Uncle's eyes.” Georgi gently patted the baby's cheek with a soft finger, and in retaliation, the baby tried to eat it off. Yes, definitely Uncle Ilya's child.

“And his nose, thank god.”

Georgi tried to imagine the Nikiforov nose on this delicate cherub of a child. The horror. “That's how I knew he wasn't yours before you even said it. Look at him. He's too pretty to be yours.”

“Did you hear that, baby? Gosha is being mean to me! Not everyone is blessed with a Plisetsky nose.”

“Perhaps your children will have the good fortune of taking on Yuuri's nose,” Georgi laughed, but Victor's face took on such a look of misery that it tapered off immediately. “What's wrong?”

“Yuuri's angry.”

“Yes, I've gathered.”

The baby made his presence in the conversation known with a soft, small burp, and his brother's hand stopped patting and simply settled broadly over his little back.

“Was that it?” Georgi asked, perplexed. “All that patting for that?”

“Yes. Do you want to hold him? He shouldn't be too fussy now.”

Georgi nodded, and Victor shifted his hold on the child until he was laying down. Victor draped a small blanket on Georgi's own shoulder, flowing over the crook of his arm, and nestled the child there, tucking in the ends until he was but a face emerging from a little cocoon. “He's lighter than I expected.”

“He was smaller when he was born, if you can believe it.”

Georgi took a moment to marvel at the little rosebud mouth, at the small, delicate lashes framing the eyes. Yuuri would have fallen in love at first sight if he had seen him.

“Now tell me what you did to make my favorite brother hate you.”

And so Victor told him the whole sad, sorry tale, and Georgi could only put a fist to his mouth to control his urge to interrupt his brother every so often, nodding to encourage him to speak.

“...then I told him, 'If it is your wish, my lord, then let's end this!' Then I came outside and there you were.”

Georgi was appalled. He knew his brother was intelligent; he had won the Northern War in a series of ruthless battles against older and more hardened commanders, had cunningly bartered for a Babicheva bride for the Crown, and had just now demonstrated his ability to recite word for word a conversation from memory alone. “Vitya...is your head injured in any way? Right now?”

“No, why?”

Without warning Georgi gave him a hard smack to the back of his head.

“Fuck!”

“Stupid,” Georgi told him. “Did you really laugh at him? Did you forget he went feral last night?” Georgi thought he saw Ser Seung-Gil smile, but when he looked up to check, the knight had rearranged his face back to a neutral expression.

“I know. I wasn't thinking clearly.”

“Obviously. What is wrong with you?”

“I don't know. I was just happy to see him again. He's adorable even when he's upset.”

Georgi raised his hand to smack his brother again, but Victor slapped it away. “Once is enough, thank you. You'll disturb the baby.“

He glanced at their little cousin, who had barely stirred in his arms, and raised his eyebrow at Victor. “You're so stupid, Vitya. You've barely been home two days and you've already made a mess of things.”

“I know,” Victor groaned, bent over and took his head in his hands. “But Yuuri yelled at me and told me I dishonored him then and accused me of siring bastard children for him to raise!”

“Vitya,” Georgi sighed. “If father came home after a very long time with a child that looked like him, what would your first thought be?”

“But I announced it at court. I named him Yuri Snow, that he was Uncle's son, and then I publicly petitioned for grandfather to legitimise him.” Victor tugged at his hair, a faraway look in his eyes. Georgi waited patiently, knowing that Victor would arrive to the correct conclusion with time. “Ser Seung-Gil said Yuuri had become upset, then run out of the Great Hall.” Victor stared at his door, and Georgi imagined that he was running the sequence of events in his mind, piecing together the puzzle in his brilliantly idiotic brain. “Oh, fuck. He must have left before I could explain. He took one look at the child, panicked, then ran. I should speak with him.”

Georgi grabbed his brother's sleeve before he could jump up and storm in the way he left. “Break your fast first. I'll speak with Yuuri. The Madame doesn't like how thin you are.”

“I'll eat in my study,” Victor told the servants, who were no doubt listening in to gossip amongst themselves. They entered Victor's sitting room, which connected his bedchamber, the spare room that had been converted into a nursery, and his study. Georgi himself only had a sitting room and a bedchamber. When they were younger and had recently lost their parents, he had stayed in Victor's spare bedroom and sometimes slept in his big brother's bed. Then Yuuri had come along and sometimes they all napped together like young pups. It was the strangest thing to see Yuuri and Victor at odds.

He made sure his brother had settled in with a meal before making his way to the doors to the bedchamber, dragging a chair against the wood. The baby slept like a rock in his arms, and he rather liked it. It felt good, and his alpha purred in content at the weight.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door, and called out, “Yuuri? It's Gosha.”

After Yuuri's first heat, Gosha had not been allowed to enter his room, for fear of impropriety. So they often talked like this, through the door, because Georgi saw him everyday the rest of the year and it made him uneasy to not see him for a whole week. Perhaps it made him an unbearable alpha, but his grandfather was constantly busy with the affairs of the Crown, Yakov was equally as busy as Hand of the King, and the Madame was busy with everything else the other two could not do. The rest of the court were their subjects, and none of them their equal. So really, he and Yuuri only had each other.

He listened for the telltale drag of a chair against the stone, and then Yuuri responded, “Hi.”

“Are you alright?”

He heard Yuuri sniffled, “No.”

“I'm sorry. Vitya's an idiot.”

“I...I think I have to leave, Gosha. Vitya said he didn't want me anymore.”

“Vitya spoke in haste,” Georgi assured quickly. “And I suspect you did too. No one is leaving.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“All this...fuss that I've made. I'm ashamed of it.”

“Yuuri, no one finds you at fault for reacting the way you did. In fact, I hit Vitya for daring to upset you so soon after last night. Because he's stupid and an idiot and I'm very sorry you're saddled with him.”

Mayhaps Georgi was exaggerating his affronted tone, but it garnered a laugh in the midst of Yuuri's crying.

“I still love him.”

“I'm very sorry about that too. You poor fool.”

Georgi smiled at another bout of soft laughter, and gently bounced the baby in his arms.

-

Yuuri wiped his cheek and took a breath, leaning his forehead against the wood of the door. He curled up in his chair and tucked his cold toes under his night gown.

“Gosha? Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“I don't understand why Vitya isn't the crown prince anymore. How? I thought Uncle Ilya wasn't in line for the throne.”

“Yuuri...didn't you ever wonder why Uncle Ilya wasn't the heir despite being Grandfather's only alpha child?”

Yuuri stared blankly at the door, feeling foolish. He had been but a child when he came to live in Ruvenia, and had always taken for granted that he was betrothed to the heir to the throne. “No. I never wondered. I always thought it was because he was younger.”

“It's more complicated than that. Grandfather, as you know, had two children. My mother, and Uncle Ilya. You know that Ruvenia passes down the throne through the alpha line. Because my mother was an omega, she could never be queen. Until the war with Nikifor, Uncle Ilya was the crown prince. The crown prince is a status, not a title, and can only be decided by the order of succession.

“Unfortunately, Uncle Ilya had resisted being heir to the throne his whole life, and he had decided that he would abdicate when he became king.” Georgi added, “Only a king may abdicate, princes and princesses have none of the divine power to do so. My grandfather, hearing this, decided to invoke a Ruvenian tradition that would both give Uncle his freedom and allow the royal family to save face.

“It is a tradition that dates back to Old Valyria. In times of war, a king may appoint any of his heirs with the title War Prince or Princess, no matter how far down the kinship line, and it gives them the authority to command the king's army. Historically, War Princes do not come home alive. This is why they are removed from the order of succession. It gives our House time to groom heirs, and to minimize infighting.”

Georgi continued, his tone not unlike Yakov when he was giving a lesson. “Nikifor surrendered their land to us, and the alliance was sealed with my father given to my mother. This is why Vitya and I are of the Royal House of Plisetsky and Nikiforov. Ruvenia has since made war with Yushu and Tsyeva, as you know. When Uncle died last year, Grandfather had no choice but to name Vitya as War Prince.”

“I remember the lords and ladies speaking of it,” Yuuri recalled. “The court thought it a great honor. But I hadn't known about the removal to the line of succession. It makes sense though.” With a start, he realized that the title of War Prince was a way to disown heirs under the guise of honor and prestige. How convenient it must have been, to assign heirs to the battlefield where they could easily felled by sword or arrow. How many unsuitable Plisetsky alphas had been done away by this tradition?

How many heirs had been caught and killed as war prisoners because the Crown simply would not pay ransom?

If Victor had been any less skilled or fortunate...Yuuri couldn't bear the thought of it.

“It is an old tradition, and has rarely been used in the history of our House. Not many people know of the intricacies of the appointment, and we didn't want to burden you with the politics of the throne.”

“Of course,” Yuuri dutifully said, since he was only a foreign omega in the great court of Ruvenia, and at the mercy of the whims to the Crown.

“The king can lift the appointment any time, and he did so when the Northern War ended. Vitya became crown prince again. Or he would have if Uncle Ilya hadn't sired an alpha child.” Georgi said, “An omega could have been denied, but an alpha son from the remaining alpha line of Plisetsky cannot, bastard or no.”

“A bastard should not even be considered for the throne.” Yuuri interjected. “In Yushu, highborn bastards are drowned in our sacred river, to offer them back to the gods and bring back a family's honor.”

“Yuuri,” Georgi reminded gently. “It is not the Plisetsky way. Other Houses may give their bastards back to the gods, but our House is too small to make sacrifices of heirs. They are kin, no matter what. This child has no mother and no father, no other family left.”

“Why legitimize the child at all? I just can't understand it!” Yuuri sighed.

“Grandfather doesn't want to, but Vitya is pushing for it. I cannot say Vitya's reasons for it, but as I see it, he had three options to choose from. He could either kill the child, claim it as his own, or reveal its true parentage. Each option has a consequence that Vitya must live with. If he killed the child, and it became known that child was Ilya's, he could be beheaded for treason. If he claimed the child as his own, he would have dishonored you, but he would have kept his place in line, and suffered no true consequence. Perhaps the child's parentage would have caught up to him, and caused another war for the throne," Georgi mused distractedly. "If he revealed the truth, Vitya would have kept his honor and yours intact, at the cost of the crown prince status. You can see which choice he picked.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“Because he is a good man, and a truth-teller. Uncle Ilya shamed this child by making it his bastard. Vitya is only correcting it. Righting a wrong.”

It was the Plisetsky house words: We Right the Wrongs. The ideal that governed the ruling family of Ruvenia, the code that led his fiance to bring home his infant cousin at the risk of his own personal shame. It was a call for justice, and honor, and virtue.

“The people would assume he was hiding his own bastard as his uncle's to save face.” Yuuri knew he was being belligerent, but he said it anyway. In his heart, he already knew he had softened and loved Victor all the more for his deeds.

“Then let's say the child was my brother's bastard. But because he claims it is his uncle's, it becomes crown prince. The child will ascend the throne ahead of him, will hold power over him. When that child grows and has his own heirs, Vitya and his trueborn children will sink further down the line of succession. How does that sound to you as a form of power play?”

Yuuri said nothing, and had run out of the will to argue. He had always been thankful for Georgi's good sense and gentle manner, and continuously surprised by how unaffected Georgi was by the machinations of the court around him and the ruthless strategy of his grandfather. His kindness shone through him and people responded to it; the castle staff had in fact laid claim to him as _their_ prince. It was just a shame that he fell in love so quickly and so wholeheartedly. Perhaps having a betrothed would settle him.

“Besides, the pup looks exactly like Uncle Ilya, Vitya couldn't possibly have fathered this sweet little angel.”

“How is Lady Mila?” Yuuri asked, hoping to change the topic.

“She hates me,” Georgi stated plainly, but his voice held a lilt that betrayed his joy. “But in all other ways she is perfect.”

Oh dear. “Then I shall invite her for tea. Perhaps all she needs is a friend.”

“Would you do that for me, Yuuri?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Then I shall take my leave. Vitya should have recovered by now.”

“What do you mean 'recovered'?”

“His temper, I mean. You know how he is.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Gosha, Vitya has never been bad-tempered, and you know it.” His breath caught. “Oh gods, is he sick?”

“No, no...just breaking his fast in the other room. Resting. He's fine.”

“Gosha.”

“Vitya would want to tell you himself.”

“Gosha,” Yuuri whispered, changing tactics, affecting a sad omegan tone. “Please. I need to know.”

Yuuri waited with baited breath, as his goodbrother became silent for a long moment. Then, through the wood, came his murmur.

“Vitya has poppymilk sickness.”

Yuuri felt his face drain of blood, and he stared down at his knees. He felt exponentially worse for having chased him out of the nest and his rooms, when Victor was suffering so. Yuuri had seen the effects of poppymilk sickness in the capital city's poverty-stricken areas, which had only grown in recent years. He had spoken to the omegas that kept the sick alphas in their keep, alphas that had become disabled from the war, then impoverished from the addiction. He heard their stories, listened to their suffering, and could only advocate for their care as a highborn omega close to the Crown.

Yuuri himself felt the dosage of poppymilk in his body, high in his belly and rising up to his throat. His hands still trembled from them, and there was a thick thrumming in his veins that was unpleasant and lingering. Was this what it was like for Victor all the time? What if Victor had survived the Northern war only to die from sickness after?

“I feel awful.”

“It will be alright, Yuuri,” Georgi assured. “But I should go and take my leave before Vitya wears a stripe down the rug.”

“Please tell him I'll be here." Yuuri said, "He stormed out earlier. How did you even find him?”

“Oh, I found him here. He didn't even go beyond the hallway, said he needed to protect you. So believe me when I say things will be alright, Yuuri. He loves you.”

Yuuri looked down and two tears dropped to his lap, one after the other. Victor never left? After all the terrible things Yuuri said? He wanted to protect him? He loved him? Still?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we haven't had a Victor POV yet...perhaps chapter 5 will FINALLY give it to us? And maybe we'll finish something Tremors started... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
